


I wrote (to) you

by melonbutterfly



Series: Pulp Fictions [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Insecurity, M/M, Pansexual Character, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, writer!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4699115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky might have written a fair amount of stories in other genres too, but there's something... distinctive about his romance novels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I wrote (to) you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luninosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/gifts).



> So [luninosity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity) wrote this _gorgeous_ story that hits all my soft spots, [tales to astonish](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4656069), then got my creative juices going about a sequel. This is it.

It's later, after feverish kisses and clumsy undressing, almost tripping over pants tangled up in shoes and giggling and catching each other and sighing and moans, coming probably far too soon, unpracticed with each other but so, so eager. They're in bed still, setting sun spilling rosy light over them and setting the whole world aglow in soft light, almost too sweet to he bearable if they weren't both too happy, too relieved to care. Bucky thinks he might die; surely it's not possible for one body to contain so much emotion?

And then Steve starts nudging Bucky, first gentle and then more insistent, elbow in ribs until Bucky whines and lifts his head, resigned to the knowledge that there's no out-stubborning Steve. "What?"

"I want to read them now," Steve demands, sure of himself now that he knows that they're in safe territory, no sharp edges to trip over and cut yourself, no crevasses to lose your footing in and stumble, fall. Bucky really didn't mean to make Steve think he was doing _that_. He doesn't know what he thought, there's no way Steve would have let it go, always stubborn and prickly as a hedgehog at a mere hint of being thought of as weak, lesser somehow, but he'd just hoped to get away with it. But help, to Steve, implies pity which presumes weakness. Maybe one day Steve will realize that accepting aid from a friend is the opposite of weak, but it hasn't happened yet, so Bucky won't hold his breath on that front.

"Bucky," Steve insists when Bucky doesn't move, doesn't reply.

"Which ones d'you wanna start with?" Bucky asks and a second later could hit himself; he should've just gotten the crime ones, the least embarrassing because he just knows Steve is actually going to pick-

"The romance ones."

Those. Darn.

"Come on, Buck, I meant it, I really wanna read them."

Yeah, Bucky just bets Steve does. But now Steve is looking at him all earnest, eyes like blue diamonds, and Bucky _knows_ he's being played, alright, he _knows,_ but that doesn't mean that Steve doesn't mean it. He does want to read what Bucky's written, which a little hard to wrap his mind around – Bucky's writing really isn't the crème de la crème of anything, it's _pulp_ for heaven's sake – but Steve would never lie about something like that. The reason why he wants to start with the romance is just a little less... earnest than that. And incidentally, the romance happens to be what Bucky wants for Steve to read the least. He had to put his feelings somewhere, alright? And he's already admitted, unwitting and stupid with relief and growing elation, that he takes inspiration from their life, from _Steve,_ and even without knowing that, after just a handful of paragraphs at most Steve is guaranteed to make the connection either way.

But there's nothing to it. Steve asked, and if there's ever been a time when Bucky was able to refuse him, he cannot recall. So Bucky rolls out of bed and shuffles over to the wardrobe, reaches behind the hat box and pushes the thin piece of wood aside that he uses to hide what he's stacked behind; the romance stories. The others he didn't hide as well, they're in his underwear drawer, but the romance ones... well.

When he turns around Steve's eyes quickly jump to Bucky's face, but not quickly enough for Bucky not to notice that Steve has been staring at his ass quite blatantly. But even that isn't distraction enough; Bucky dredges up a nervous smile and hands the stack over to Steve, then puts his nervous hands on his hips, clenching on bone to hide the slight tremble. Then he remembers that he's naked and this is a rather provocative way to stand so he quickly hides them behind his back, twists them together, only that makes him look guilty so he...

Damn it all. There's no reason to be this nervous; these aren't pure blue books. Sure, there is sex, but most of all there's sweet promises and love at first sight and being swept off your feet, and generally also being taken some place nicer, because that's the sort of thing the girls dream about, or at least so Bucky has been informed. But... hell. There's a reason they all come with covers of blond, blue-eyed men, handsome and smile as soft as their noble shoulders are not. Steve looks at the first one, raises one eyebrow and opens the book, and oh god, Bucky can't watch.

Nobody he's ever cared about has read his stories – or at least knowing that Bucky wrote them. It's absolutely nerve-wracking, even more so because it's _Steve,_ reading flowery descriptions and words dipped in honey, and alright, so Bucky is a bit of a romantic, there's a reason these sell so well, but this is _Steve,_ who these stories are _about_. At their core, every single story is a love declaration to Steve, built up sweet and slow but pretty blatant, if you know Bucky, if you know Steve.

"Stop hovering," Steve orders absently, nose already buried in the page, and Bucky jumps, then makes himself take a few steps towards the sink. Water, he should drink some water, and bring Steve a glass too while he's at it, and...

"Bucky." This time Steve looks up, pats the bed by his side. "Come back to bed. Why are you so nervous? You're _good,_ you have to know that, you wouldn't sell if you weren't."

"Selling and being good are two different things," Bucky says automatically, slightly derailed by the casualness of _come back to bed,_ the sound of which sends a thrill down his spine. But he sits obediently on the mattress. " _You_ are good, but somehow people don't throw as much money at you as they ought to. And... you're nervous too, when you show me your drawings, right? It's like that."

Partially. Kind of. Maybe? Oh, god, Bucky doesn't know. Steve's pictures are genuinely good though, and while Bucky supposes his writing is decent enough to sell, that really doesn't have to mean anything.

"Oh." Looking a bit embarrassed, Steve ducks his head. "Right, I'm sorry, that was insensitive." He leans in to peck Bucky on the lips in apology, and then they both stare at each other with ridiculous smiles because this is still so new, but it's something they can do now. Kiss. Because Bucky loves Steve, always has; it's ingrained in him down to the marrow of his bones, but Steve... Steve loves him too. He doesn't even need to say it, Bucky can see it now that he's stopped looking at him through a lens of hiding and yearning and fear.

They lose themselves in the moment, kisses sweet and slow as molasses as they slowly sink down on the bed, shared warmth between them that heats up, gets more demanding until Bucky thinks he might burn in the sizzling ache of Steve's weight on top of him, thigh hitched high between Bucky's legs, and it's different from the first time in the sense that they're more sure of each other now, of themselves, less nervous, but it's still so new and Bucky has been wanting for _so long_ and Steve's fingers are in his hair, lips on his throat, and then the sensation of teeth against sensitive skin has him crack open.

He dozes, after, because he always gets so tired and Steve stays in bed with him, wipes them clean haphazardly and lets Bucky curl around him, blanket protecting them both from the encroaching chill of the evening.

It's the sound of rustling pages that brings Bucky back to conscious; he opens his eyes and finds that he's got both arms wrapped around Steve's hips and Steve is sitting up, is reading.

_Is reading._

Abruptly jolted awake Bucky twitches and pushes himself up to one elbow, sees that on Steve's other side are two stacks of books and hopes fervently that the bigger one is the unread one. "Steve-"

"You're good," Steve immediately interrupts him, eyes earnest. "You're really good, Bucky."

Feeling defensive and not sure why, Bucky snorts derisively. "These are romance books for girls, you don't have to butter me up, Stevie-"

"No," he's interrupted once more. "Yes, they're a little... _romantic,_ I guess, _which they're supposed to be dumbass,_ but that doesn't mean they have to be bad, and they're not. You're really good, Bucky, I can tell, you keep track of everything and nobody behaves like no real person would and it's not too much. Really, these are very good, Bucky, I mean it."

Embarrassed now and not sure why, Bucky hums a little and then drops back down on the bed, buries his face in the pillow. "Okay," he eventually manages to mumble into it, aware that it's only by virtue of him being on Steve's good side that Steve even understands him. But Steve just... Steve doesn't do that, he doesn't lie to people, even the nice sort of lie other people tell to make someone feel better. He just doesn't. So that means he must mean it, he really thinks that Bucky's writing is good, and he's only read the romance stories so far. Those are not the ones Bucky is the most proud of, even if he can't honestly say that they're the ones he's the least proud of, either.

Steve's hand settles on the back of his head and starts to play with his hair, something nobody's done for Bucky since... ever, maybe. It sounds so simple but it feels so good, feeling Steve's fingers slide through his hair, fingernails scratching lightly over his scalp and sending pleasant shivers down his back. If Bucky could, he'd purr; as it is he feels like all his muscles just turn to jelly and he seeps into the lumpy mattress like he's lying on air.

"Bucky?" Steve asks softly after a while. All Bucky is capable of in reply is a vague "Hmmm?" but it must be enough for Steve, who continues, "So, these characters... this Sean... that's something I said to you last week... and Roger surprised Bethany with a picnic in the park for her birthday like I did for your last birthday... and Shelton and Barbara-"

By this point Bucky is red-faced and squirming, back to pressing his beet-red face into the pillow. "Stop!"

"Not to mention," Steve continues, undeterred, "That most of their names start with S and B or S and J or have some other sort of relation to our names. These are about me, are they?"

God, this is mortifying. Couldn't Bucky have been a _little_ more subtle? Steve will never know, he'd told himself, but that was just dumb.

"Are they?" Steve insists, voice soft but determined. He's not gonna let this one go.

Well, it's not like Bucky expected any different. Steve can really be a punk sometimes. "Yes, alright?" He presses out, feeling pathetic and silly. Alright, he's been writing love stories about Steve for years; at least now he's making money off them, too. But it's not his fault, Steve is just so- he's so terribly loveable, stubborn and caring and determined and goddamn noble, Bucky doesn't know how anybody could meet him and _not_ fall in love with him, and Steve will barely and only grudgingly consent to Bucky taking care of him and being sweet to him when he's sick, nevermind anytime else, so what is Bucky to do with all these feelings?

He writes them into stories. That's not a bad thing, even if it probably makes him pretty pathetic.

"Hey," Steve says, voice suddenly soft, and leans over Bucky, warm lips on his shoulder blade as he gifts him with a gentle kiss. "I think it's sweet, Bucky, I think it's real sweet, okay? You don't have to be so embarrassed." A broad hand slides down Bucky's spine, a little cold because of Steve's bad circulation but Bucky could care less about that. "If you knew how often I draw you... let's just say, we're square on that front, okay? Because I draw you a lot, Bucky. A lot."

"Yeah?" Voice quiet, Bucky swallows and shifts a little, curls more into Steve who takes the opportunity to scoot down and lie on his back, squirms into Bucky's chest until they're facing each other. Naked and warm, in their bed, because this is something they do now. Bucky still half-expects for it all to have been a dream next time he wakes up.

"Yeah," Steve confirms equally softly and cups Bucky's face with both hands, kisses him sweet and gentle, languid. They're getting more familiar with each other, in ways Bucky never would have thought he'd ever get to know Steve at all, and he's pretty sure that even now that he's got Steve he'll still have to keep writing the romance stories, because somehow there's even more feeling in him now than there was before. Something he never would've thought possible.

They kiss for a bit, but that's all they do; it's not a promise for something else, not right now. And eventually they just lie in each other's arms, loose-limbed and heavy with contentment, and they should be getting started on dinner but Bucky will be damned if he moves now.

And then Steve shifts a little bit and Bucky just knows there's something on his mind. "What is it?"

Steve stills, then huffs at being caught, but it takes him another moment to decide whether to play it off and make Bucky drag it out of him – stubborn as a mule, that little punk, there's nobody in the world Bucky could love as much as him – or whether to just come out and say it. Thankfully, he decides on the latter. "I... those guys you wrote about. D-do you wish I were more like them?"

There's bravado in Steve's voice as always, only betrayed by the little wobble in the middle, and for a second Bucky doesn't even register the words, he's too busy being fond. But then he realizes just what Steve said just now and goes still. "What?" Caught somewhere between shock and confusion, Bucky lifts onto one elbow to better look at Steve, who rolls onto his back and meets Bucky's gaze almost defiantly.

"B-but..." Bucky stutters. "They are? What are you talking about?"

Forehead wrinkling in annoyance, Steve shakes his head quickly. "They have some parts of me, but they're all... girls fall at their feet and they definitely don't with me."

"Well yeah, because that's the sort of thing girls like to read," Bucky explains slowly, still trying to figure out what Steve is actually saying. "If they make off with the guy everybody else wants. They like that. Do you mean... do you want to, still? With girls?" It's a sobering thought, but it was stupid to simply assume Steve would want to be with Bucky only. They can't even go on dates together, of course Steve would want to still try to find someone with whom he really can be together in ways he can't with Bucky. They can't ever get married, hell, Bucky won't even be able to buy Steve something sweet without having to lie about it being for a girl for their safety.

"No!" Steve exclaims loudly, scowling now, and as relieving as that vehement denial is, now Bucky just feels confused, and not in a good way. And Steve is able to tell, because he frowns even harder. "Bucky, don't be dumb, these guys you write about, they're all... smooth and good-looking and they're tall and have big shoulders and people rely on them. I'm nothing like that."

For a second, all Bucky can do is stare, and he knows he must be making a pretty dumb face right now, but... "That's. That's just ridiculous, Steve. You're a knock-out, with your eyes and your mouth and your hands and your stupid legs and your- look, I never wrote about them having big shoulders, I always said dependable shoulders or reliable shoulders or something like that, and I always described _you_. Sometimes I had to give them different hair or eyes but that's all."

It's Steve's turn to stare, somewhere between surprised and disbelieving. Is it really so hard to think that Bucky would actually find him appealing? He knows that Steve sometimes is angry at his body, but Bucky had always thought that's because he gets sick so much, not because of how he looks.

"Really?" Steve eventually asks, half a demand to mask insecurity underneath. Insecurity that Bucky only sees because he knows Steve so well. "Because I know I'm not a catch-"

"Shut up," Bucky immediately interrupts, a little more angry than he ought maybe. But every time he hears Steve something like that – generally in relation to his illnesses, but sometimes just to his body in general – it makes him furious. This time, however, is different than the others: he can finally say what he really thinks. "You're a catch, Steve, and one helluva good one. You're sweet and kind and respectful, you help out where you can and you're a sarcastic punk and sometimes pretty hilarious. You're strong and don't fuss, you're an incredibly talented artist and... you're a bombshell in the looks department, too. Any girl would be lucky to have you and I'm doubly so that you'll have me."

By the time Bucky finishes Steve is squirming in embarrassed and Bucky is pretty red-faced himself, but he makes himself finish. This needs to be said, clearly.

"But I- my body-" Steve stutters, but again, Bucky won't let him continue.

"Your body is _fine._ The only thing that isn't when it gets sick, but that doesn't make you less attractive or anything. You don't have to be no muscleman for me to want you, Steve. I think you're good just the way you are."

Steve has gone still now and is looking up at him, processing. "So you don't wish I were more... manly?"

One eyebrow hitching up, Bucky protests, "You're plenty manly. Never seen a girl with legs as hairy as yours, Steve."

For a second Steve stares at him, then he lowers his gaze. "Or more... girly?"

"No." That's an entirely new direction Steve is coming from, though, and it makes Bucky thoughtful. "I don't... I'm attracted to people, Steve, not shapes, and I'm attracted to you more than anybody else, ever. Maybe there's something wrong with me, I don't know, but that's just how it is. I don't want anything about you different in any way."

Steve swallows and meets Bucky's eyes, red-faced but serious. "I... I don't want anything about you different either."

A part of Bucky wants to respond glibly; this isn't the sort of conversation Steve and him normally have and it's kind of mortifying, but that would probably be a pretty bad way to react right now. So Bucky swallows the reflex down and smiles, a little wobbly. "Okay. Good."

"Good," Steve echoes, then pulls him down into a kiss, soft and gentle and sweet. It goes on for so long that Bucky loses track of time, loses track of anything until they eventually separate, lips swollen and out of breath. Somehow Bucky ended up on his back, Steve hovering above him, a reversal of their earlier position, and for a second just stare at each other. Then Steve licks his lips and raises one eyebrow, a wicked glint entering his eyes that makes Bucky wary by default. "So, I read something in that story about the pirate and the princess..."

Oh, god.


End file.
